


Poplar Street

by sequence_fairy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 19:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15564825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: He’d texted her that morning, told her to come by after work. Rukia had readily agreed - it was Friday night, she had no other plans, Ichigo was always a good time … and anyway, who knows, maybe she’ll get off later.





	Poplar Street

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ichirukimonth](http://ichirukimonth.tumblr.com) 2018 day 4 - College AU.

The bus belches smoke as it pulls jerkily away from the curb. Rukia stumbles but catches herself and continues down the aisle towards the back of the bus. She settles into a window seat, to watch the city slip by. The sun is setting and on this side of town, the streets are tree-lined and the cars parked against the curb all have soft lines and nice paint. There are families on the sidewalks. 

The bus turns down the main street and starts to wend its way towards downtown and the houses turn into office buildings with glass walls and shops on their first floors. Rukia has to change buses at the terminal, which, as usual, is in the roughest part of downtown. Her next bus is late, so she waits. She stands in the pool of the overhead light, hands in her pockets, ignoring the other denizens of the bus terminal at this hour. 

The next bus arrives and Rukia climbs aboard, heading, once again, for the back seat. The interior lights of the bus flick off as it pulls away from the terminal and Rukia pulls out her phone, scrolling through her instagram feed while she half-listens to the automated stop announcements. She’s got a ways to go before she arrives at the stop she needs. 

Ichigo lives off-campus. 

His place is a tumble-down, divided-up-into-too-many-apartments, needs-a-new-roof-three-years-ago kind of a house, but he and his roommates – Chad and Renji – keep their part of it as neat as they can. The upstairs apartment houses a revolving door of people – Rukia is pretty sure there are only four names on the lease, but it always seems like there’s anywhere up to thirteen people living in the place. The bachelor apartment in the basement is occupied by one Ishida Uryuu, who keeps to himself most of the time, but once, when Rukia was sneaking out before Ichigo (or his roommates) woke up, she’d run into him getting his bike out of the garage. 

Rukia flushes at bit at the memory now, sitting at the back of the bus on her way back to campus after a day spent overseeing over-excited children at the art gallery. Ishida’d looked her up and down, appraising her diaphanous blue dress and the heels she was carrying before shaking his head and heading out. Rukia smiles though, at the memory of giving his back the finger and sticking her tongue out at him before confidently heading down the sidewalk. After all, it’s not a walk of shame unless you are ashamed.

She and Ichigo aren’t a Thing, per se. They just sometimes end up in bed together, after one too many drinks down at the club on Tuesday nights – shots are $2, and one thing often leads to another – and sometimes, it also happens when they’re lonely or stressed or celebrating passing an exam or presenting a project… Rukia doesn’t like to label things. Honestly, she has better things to do. She reaches up, and pulls the stop request cord. 

The bus stops between blocks, and Rukia disembarks, alone. She calls out a thank you to the driver before she steps off the bus, and then pockets her phone and heads down the block in the direction of Ichigo’s place. He’d texted her that morning, told her to come by after work. Rukia had readily agreed - it was Friday night, she had no other plans, Ichigo was always a good time … and anyway, who knows, maybe she’ll get off later. The thought of getting off puts a little spring in her step and she arrives at Ichigo’s place a little breathless. 

The front door is open, as usual, and she slips in and shuts it behind her. In the hallway that connects the three apartments, there is a jungle of shoes and a bike and a scooter in pieces and other detritus of college boys. Rukia slips off her shoes just outside Ichigo’s door, and tries the knob. It’s open, and so she walks in. 

Renji is in the kitchen, his hair a rope of red braided down his back while he stirs something. Ichigo looks up from the notebooks strewn across the kitchen table and Rukia watches a slow smile steal across his face. 

“Hey,” Rukia says, and Renji half-turns, but Rukia is already on her way to Ichigo. Ichigo makes an aborted movement to stand but Rukia is too fast, and she pulls out the chair across from him and plops into it, before dropping her head to the table. “Why are children so loud?” 

“Because no one ever taught them the usefulness of silence,” Chad’s voice makes Rukia look up. 

“Naw,” Renji disagrees, “it’s ‘cause kids are actually hellspawn.” 

Rukia smothers a laugh with her hand and then pokes Ichigo’s notebook with his discarded pen. “What’cha studying?” 

“English Lit,” Ichigo answers, tossing his copy of  _ Wuthering Heights _ across the table to her. It is dog-eared and much-loved. “But I’m done for the night. Wanna eat? Renji’s making noodles.” 

“Renji is always making noodles,” Rukia grouses good-naturedly. 

“Hey!” Renji protests, gesturing with the wooden spoon in his hand. “You don’t like my noodles, you can get out.” 

“No one is saying they don’t like your noodles, Abarai,” Ichigo says, “which is only because they know that noodles are the only thing you can cook without setting the house on fire.” 

Chad intervenes before Renji can throw the spoon in his hand at Ichigo. “I’m sure Rukia likes your noodles, Renji,” he rumbles and opens the fridge. “Can I get you a beer, Rukia?” 

Rukia sneaks a glance across the table at Ichigo. He looks back at her steadily. Rukia sighs, and turns back to Chad. “Sure.” 

Chad joins her and Ichigo at the table, handing both Rukia and Ichigo cans of beer before popping his open himself. “Happy Friday,” he says, and Rukia lifts her can to clink it against his. 

After dinner, the four of the sprawl in the living room to watch shitty TV until Ichigo’s fingers get restless and start climbing Rukia’s thigh. Neither Renji nor Chad look up when Rukia tugs Ichigo up to his feet and pulls him down the hall to his room. 

Ichigo closes the door behind them, and strips his shirt off over his head, tossing it onto the floor to join half of the rest of his wardrobe. Rukia lets him back her up, until he knocks her back onto his bed, and descends upon her, mouth hot and hands eager. 

It’s quick and it’s quiet, but Rukia’s satisfied sigh makes Ichigo’s smile turn smug as he drapes an arm around her waist, and tugs her closer to him. 

They wake up tangled together. Rukia reaches down behind her, and grins when she finds him, hard, against her back. She wraps her hand around him, and slowly pulls him out of sleep, letting him roll her over and pin her down. Rukia pushes back against him, and Ichigo’s hand presses down between her shoulder blades. She’s already wet, and Ichigo wastes no time, sliding inside and making her gasp into the pillow. 

Ichigo pulls her back, and Rukia rises onto her elbows, head hanging down. Ichigo grips her hips, and drives into her. Rukia rests herself on one arm, the other hand busy between her own thighs. She bites her lip to keep from crying out when Ichigo’s rhythm falters and he comes with a groan before he reaches around to help her get herself off. 

After, Rukia showers alone, and Ichigo hands her a cup of coffee when she pads back into the kitchen. Rukia finishes her coffee leaning on the counter while Ichigo tries not to fuck up scrambled eggs. He manages, just barely. 

No one else is up when they’re finished, so Rukia leans up and kisses Ichigo as she’s leaving, slipping him some tongue for good measure and when she drops back onto her flat feet, Ichigo’s stunned look makes her smile. 

“Call me,” she says, and Ichigo nods.

Ichigo texts her the week before finals. 

By some miracle of providence, he has the house to himself for the entire weekend. Even the four (thirteen?) weirdos who live upstairs are going to be gone and Rukia’s fingers tremble with anticipation as she texts him back. She’s practically levitating with the thought of having an entire weekend of uninterrupted time (and very pointedly not thinking about how this probably means they are a Thing now) by the time she gets back to her dorm room. 

The rest of the week feels like an age, and by the time Friday finally arrives, Rukia is this close to going mad. She cuts her last class on Friday afternoon, deciding she’ll be unable to focus on a lecture about existentialism when her mind is wholly consumed by images of Ichigo breathless beneath her and the memory of his hands on her hips. 

She packs her bag in her dorm room, locks the door behind her and walks to the bus stop. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she fishes it out, reading Ichigo’s texts. She can tell by the sloppy grammar that he’s probably stoned. He’s laying out in great detail what he’s going to do to her later, punctuated by requests for her to hurry up and get there. 

She texts him back once she’s on the bus, and contemplates figuring out how to take a picture of her boobs to send him, but decides the bus is not the place to do that. She sends him an older one she took when they were first deciding whether or not they wanted to be friends who fuck occasionally instead. She puts her phone away when the bus lurches to another stop and a horde of pre-gaming sophomores crowds around her. 

Rukia escapes the bus a couple of stops later, and makes the same trek she has so many times before. 

Ichigo is waiting for her on the stoop when she turns down his block, and he lifts a hand as she approaches. The sunset gilds his hair. Rukia’s heart lurches, and she almost wishes this was just physical, because he’s so pretty sometimes, that it hurts. She watches him smile as she gets closer. 

“Yo,” she says, dropping her bags at her feet. Ichigo stands. He’s holding a roach between his fingers, and offers her the last drag. Rukia leans down and presses her lips to his hand. 

She inhales, holding the sticky sweet smoke in her lungs, before exhaling it in a cloud above their heads. Ichigo stubs out the rest and picks up her bag. Rukia follows him into the house. 

“You know,” Ichigo says, after they’ve put her stuff in his room and gone back outside to sit on the porch. Rukia is rolling another joint, and she picks it up to lick the paper and seal it shut. “I was thinking we’d order a pizza later.” 

“Sure,” Rukia says, handing him the joint, and waiting while he lights it. Watching Ichigo smoke is always something of a turn on, and today is no different. The dying twilight paints strange shadows on his face, and he closes his eyes on that first inhale. He passes it back on his exhale. 

They share the joint, smoking it down to nothing, and Rukia feels the high settle into her bones. Ichigo always gets better stuff than she can get on campus, and his preference is for a body high instead of something that goes straight to his head. Rukia feels syrupy and slow, like all her bones are melting into the concrete steps beneath her. 

Ichigo stands after a while, and pulls Rukia to her feet. She’s unsteady and stumbles into him, so Ichigo wraps an arm around her waist and brings her inside. He deposits her on the couch and comes back with two beers and his phone. 

Rukia picks up her beer, and gets stuck on the way the condensation feels on the glass, keeps rubbing her fingers over the edge of the label and Ichigo watches her, amused. “You’re a little stoned,” he says, leaning back. 

“Like you’re not,” Rukia retorts, and Ichigo laughs. 

“Here,” Ichigo says, and takes her beer. He opens it, popping the cap with his lighter. The cap pings off the ceiling and lands somewhere behind them. Rukia whoops. Ichigo opens his own beer with less fanfare and they clink the necks, before drinking. 

The beer is cold, and Rukia swallows the whole neck of the bottle before putting it back down on the coffee table. She sits back, and Ichigo leans in, his beer forgotten on the table behind him. 

He kisses her heavy and slow, pressing her back onto the couch, his hands trailing up her sides and then slipping under shirt. Rukia moans into his mouth when he tugs down the cups of her bra, tweaking her nipples. 

“I’m gonna fuck you on this couch,” Ichigo says, into the join of her neck, and Rukia arches against him. 

“Please,” she says. 

Ichigo’s hands get busy with the fly of her shorts, and soon enough she’s lifting her hips to him strip them off her. He leans up over her to kiss her while he slips his hand in between her thighs. She opens for him, and he rubs against her clit; tight circles that make her breath catch. Ichigo could get her off like this, and normally she’d let him, but– “you said you were gonna fuck me,” she says, breathless. 

“Yeah?” Ichigo doesn’t stop with his fingers in her cunt as he tugs on his belt and gets his own shorts off. Rukia can’t help the way her eyes stray down his body, the lean strength of him always amazes her. He’s deceptively strong, she knows, and has an immediate and burning need to get him to hike her up the wall and fuck her while holding her up with his hands beneath her thighs. 

The thought makes her shudder and moan. 

Ichigo pushes her back onto the couch, lines up and slides home in a fluid movement that makes Rukia’s mouth drop open. “Fuck,” he says. 

“That’s the idea,” Rukia answers, and rolls her hips into his. Ichigo hisses, and begins to fuck her in earnest. Rukia’s fingers replace his on her clit.

With no one home, they have no reason to be quiet, and so Rukia isn’t. She says his name, over and over, digs her hand into his shoulder, hard, and lets him push her over the edge just ahead of his own release. 

After, she shoves him off, and Ichigo lands on the floor. “Hey!” 

Rukia laughs. 

They order too much pizza, and eat it sitting on the floor in front of the TV, while Rukia kicks his ass at Mario Kart on Chad’s N64. 

Later, they sit on Ichigo’s bed, his textbooks spread on the floor while Rukia drills him on the themes of gothic literature and rewards his correct answers by taking off her clothes. When she’s naked, she leans back, landing on his pillows and draws one hand and then the other down her body, spreading herself for him and sliding her fingers into her cunt.

Ichigo’s breath goes out of him like he’s been punched, and he watches, rapt, as she brings herself off, but doesn’t let her get all the way before he’s between her thighs with his tongue and his own hands. Rukia keens when she comes, toes curling and her hands in his hair. 

In the afterglow, Ichigo shoves the books off his bed and curls around her, tracing circles into her skin. “I think I want to be more than friends who fuck occasionally,” he says, out of the blue. 

Rukia smiles at him. “Okay,” she says, “we can be friends who fuck all weekend.” 

“You know what I mean,” Ichigo says, and sits up. “I like you,” he says, “a lot.” 

“I like you too,” Rukia says, also sitting up. “Wanna go steady, Ichigo Kurosaki?” she asks, with a wink, and Ichigo snorts, but then he smiles and oh, Rukia feels it all the way down to her toes. 

“Think that’s my line,” Ichigo says, leaning in and tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“You want to go steady with yourself?” Rukia asks, and Ichigo groans, shoving her playfully to one side. 

“You’re insufferable,” he grouses, but there’s a smile in his eyes. He pulls her up and into his lap. Rukia stares up at him, and Ichigo looks down at her. He leans in and kisses her, sweet and soft. 


End file.
